


Old Favourite

by Frangipanidownunder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-26 19:41:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13864653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frangipanidownunder/pseuds/Frangipanidownunder
Summary: Post ep for Rm9. Written to a painting by @storybycorey where Scully leans her head against Mulder in the diner.





	Old Favourite

The diner was an old favourite, a comfortable retreat that had long kept the secrets of their sometimes unfathomable lives and the equally arcane mysteries of their hearts. She imagined it had absorbed moments of their lives over the years: the beat of their pulses from wrists wrapped together, ragged breaths of fear or frustration, prolonged debates about an obscure beast or brutal killer, furtive glances, gentle brushes of fingers through hair, bold flirting, tears. The jukebox stood against the wall where greasy finger smudges formed a crown above it. She thought about asking Mulder to select The Wonder of You. The floor had carried the burden of his Italian leather shoes, his work-boots, her three-inch heels, her runners. The counter had held up their clunky cellphones and their sleek ones, their laptops, their weary and grazed elbows, their midnight coffees, their hopes and dreams.  
Today, it was fate that their stools were empty. Fate, a cryptic and confounding companion, but a welcome one. There was something deliciously real about not being able to understand, predict, articulate. Something human. Logic and rationalism had its place, had guided her well, but she still envied Mulder and his capacity to look beyond the clean edges and jump into whatever grey and swirling miasma existed ‘out there’. Was it the truth? Or was the brume now a world run by sinister and greedy robots? Whatever it was, this diner always brought out in her the feeling that she needed to dive into the haze too, dip her body into the unknown and let the perplexities of life carry her along.

The smell of burning toast reminded her of her townhouse and the explosion. The shards of glass had scattered in an anarchic race across the ground, reminding her that even pristine and measured objects are subject to the laws of chaos. Seeing Mulder chopping at his egg gave her a sudden urge to rush back to the house and throw every vase, candleholder, sculpture and painting she’d bought to feel like a cultured adult to the floor and watch them reduced to nothing but small pieces. Looking at their phones, flashing and bleeping, running their lives to the minute, made her want to return and rip out all the panels and circuits and wiring that had ordered her life for too long now. She could just about hear the angry fizz of electricity as its life sparked away.

Mulder fished out his wallet, extracted the notes. They were worn and crumpled. The pilling on his hoody was greyish under the harsh fluoro and there was a stain on the shoulder. He wore his stubble this morning the old-fashioned way – the inability to get to the sink and shave, rather than the hipster trend. He wore it well either way and she studied him as he pushed the notes forward. Even after all the AI chaos meted out to them last night, if it had indeed been real, they were still here in the diner, with their devices, a little more rumpled but living. Real.

She squeezed his hand, smiled at him, twisting in her seat. Her legs swung free and she felt giddy like a child on a carnival ride. The feeling inside was the same – hot bubbles of anticipation and excitement. He seemed surprised, charmed by her actions. The warmth of the skin on his hand filtered through, sparking a series of reactions that her body automated. A chemical response. Organic. The human need to touch. Skin to skin. Instinct. The inherent inclination of a living organism.

She let her head drop to his shoulder. He adjusted so they fitted together, piece against piece, whole. His arm snaked around her back and she sunk further into him, snug, safe, loved. An old favourite. And a new one.


End file.
